


winter whatswr

by theficisalie



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Movie Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 11:38:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1856703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theficisalie/pseuds/theficisalie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after the events of Captain America 2: The Winter Soldier. Contains spoilers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	winter whatswr

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, contains problems. No commenting on problems. Shh. You're lucky I'm posting this at all.

Steve woke up alone.

He was cold, wet, and half-covered in mud when he came to at the edge of the river in the light of the moon. It was probably the longest he’d been unconscious since he’d first woken up in the not-1940s-apartment in the actual 2010s.

He felt grimy, inside and out. Propping himself up on an elbow, he cast a look around, and tried a tentative call: “Bucky?”

Silence was all that met him for a handful of breaths until an ungainly Sam Wilson crashed through the forest and shouted: “HE’S HERE, YOU GUYS, I’M THE FIRST ONE TO FIND HIM, CAPTAIN AMERICA, HEL _LO_.”

He was soon surrounded by soldiers and agents, all clapping him on the shoulder and helping him to his feet but he couldn’t manage to focus on any of them, only briefly remembered seeing Natasha’s eyes asking the silent question that he could only answer by closing his tired eyes.

_Where the hell is Bucky Barnes?_

*

Pavement.

Sidewalk.

Crosswalk–wait. Wait. Taxis, Taxi driver, acquiring target–

Walk.

Pavement.

Sidewalk.

Stairs.

Tile, door open, carpet, feet, small feet, boots, shoes, carpet, there–

_Bucky Barnes  
1917 - 1944_

_Acquiring target– no, recalculating–_

_Recalculating–_

_Recalculating–_

_Target lost._

*

“Rogers? Do you copy?”

“Uh, yeah,” Steve said, tapping his earpiece. He’d been lost in thought, like he’d been for months, thinking about that face, about eyes marred with black blinking blankly, about a silver arm and long hair, about “Who the hell is Bucky?”

“You okay there?” Natasha’s voice cut through the wind whipping through the belly of the plane. It always did, cut right through all manner of bullshit with its iron reason, and Steve struggled like he had under water not that long ago, trying to come up with the last word. He always had the last word before he jumped out of a plane, but he hadn't fit in his own skin for a few weeks now.

Natasha’s triumphant glee was evident in every line of her face when Steve shrugged, but she replaced it quickly with amicable concern for his well-being. Still, her victory could not be quashed: she’d probably bring it up later when they ate a post-job dinner at one of the little italian joints that Tony had purchased on a whim.

He thought about that as he fleet-footed his way through the laser field (really, in this day and age?) and plugged in the magic USB stick that let the new S.H.I.E.L.D access the files on the database he was crouched near. All of these servers and computechs were still a little beyond him, although he did not appreciate Tony’s constant sarcastic remarks about how Steve could barely use his iPhone. Which, by the way, was not true. He knew how to take pictures and make phone calls and that’s all you really needed one of the devices for anyway.

“Okay Rogers, we’ve got it. This idiot C.E.O won’t be leaking information about our spies to the public any time soon. The Eagle’s flying, boys.”

“10-4,” Steve said.

Luckily, laser fields were much easier to subvert going out than coming in, mostly because as Sam had taught him, the owners of them left a path that you could only ever see from one direction in case they ever locked themselves in.

Over pizza, when Steve had just taken an enormous bite of pepperoni mushroom something, Natasha asked in that casual dead-eyed voice of hers, “So what’s got you all in a twist?”

Steve chewed and thought carefully. Natasha would know, would piece together what he was thinking about, but if he chose his words wisely she wouldn’t be able to pry deeper.

“Nothing,” he said, and it was true. There never had been a Winter Soldier, not according to any government records.

Natasha’s eyes narrowed slightly, but her spy brain must have told her he was telling a modicum of truth so she left it at that.

Steve was grateful: he just wanted to get home and sleep. All he’d been doing was working and that was what he planned on doing until he dropped dead from exhaustion at age 175.

*

Hat.

Hat.

Fancy hat.

Baseball cap– _focus_. Two points down, one point left: _analyzing… analyzing…_ no.

Head.

Umbrella. Rain?

No matter. Intel said 12:00 PM, 14th Ave Bakery, single bagel, black coffee. Time was: 11:59:47 PM.

Focus.

Hat.

Hat.

Baseball cap– _focus_. Two points down, one point left: _analyzing… analyzing…_

There.

Target: Steve Rogers, alias Captain America. Eating a bagel on the corner of the street like he belonged in the world, even though the set of his shoulders betrayed him.

Target: alive.

Target: on the move.

Target: gone.

Analysis: Steve Rogers, alive and well.

Good. He’d keep it that way.

 

*

 

They were staring at the ship, two brothers in arms, when Tony said: “I’m not doing it again.”

“Huh?” Steve asked, jargon learned from his horribly unmannered new friends, who never bothered to “Pardon me?”

“Well, this is rise of the Avengers two, right?” Tony asked.

A demonic creature screeched its way past them, with Hawkeye zipping after it. Steve watched them go and then turned back to Tony. “I guess.”

“Last time I went up there, into the wormhole. Ruined me. Panic attacks, trouble sleeping, the whole shebang. I’m in therapy now and even though my therapist can’t be bothered to stay awake while I’m in a session with him, I’m still doing a lot better.”

Steve frowned. “Bruce told me he specifically asked you to stop calling him your therapist.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony said, waving his iron fingers, no– titanium gold alloy fingers– at Steve in frustration. “Point is, I did it last time and it’s someone else’s turn to get all of their relationships destroyed by one little trip to space. That’s how my therapist put it at least, and he’s pretty good with words.”

Steve shook his head. “I’ll do it but I have no way of getting up there.”

“I can help with that,” Tony said, and then: “Hold tight, wonder boy.”

Steve barely had enough time to grab hold of his shield before they were off, and where he’d thought it would be easier to fly up rather than down, he was wrong. Every move Tony made was a struggle, a fight against gravity where usually Steve just let the world pull him back down to earth.

“If you don’t make it back out, I’ll tell your mother you loved her,” Tony said, just before he slapped a pair of rocket thrusters on Steve’s wrists and angled him towards the ship.

“My mother’s dead,” Steve said, and his S.H.I.E.L.D earpiece picked it up, broadcasted it to his teammates, who said, in almost perfect unison: “Tony, don’t be so insensitive.”

“What!” Tony said, presumably going off to battle more of the weird alien-human-warlock?-hybrids that were trying to take over Brooklyn.

It was amazing, Steve thought, how everybody seemed to gravitate towards New York City. He hadn’t _once_ gotten sent to the Yukon on a rescue mission in his entire 21st century career. It was a bit disappointing, really. Almost as disappointing as discovering that the ship had a self-destruct (they all do) but that it wasn’t set for long enough that Steve could realistically get off the ship in time.

“You don’t have to do it,” Natasha said, after Steve voiced his concerns out loud. “There has to be another way. We always find one in the end.”

That was just it. The end. After all they’d been through, after the 40 non earthling Steve had beat through on this ship, to save the city and by extension the world, he had to give up himself.

And really, what did he have to live for? He had friends, sure, but they all really had their own lives apart from him. None of them needed him as much as he needed them.

“I didn’t lie to you, Nat,” Steve said when he pushed the button. “That one time at Tonio’s.”

On the ground, Natasha shot a demon square between the eyes. She looked up at the ship even though she knew she wouldn’t be able to see him. “I know,” she said. “You’d better be running.”

Steve didn’t stand still after he enabled the self destruct. He ran against all odds, leapt over chairs and hurtled through doors and tucked his shield close. “It won’t matter,” he said, and then the ship exploded.

*

In the air, on the ground, everyone and everything stood still, watching the alien vessel burst into flames. Pieces ricocheted off the tops of buildings and fire rained down from the sky.

Five pairs of eyes watched for a speck of blue amid red and white.

Four people held their breath and stood still.

One breathed in and ran.

 _There_. Captain America dove from the enemy ship, only a little bit on fire, falling just a bit quicker than the wreckage of metal and stone.

Tony Stark swore loudly over the intercom, ignoring Nick Fury’s complaints, and said, “I can’t get there in time, it should have been me, at least Hulk would have caught me, who’s going to catch _him_?”

“Nobody,” Natasha said, hoping she was right.

And then, against all odds, as Captain America fell between two buildings, a blur of black crashed through a plate glass window and snagged Steve’s patriotic collar with a black-gloved hand, silver arm outstretched to smash through the glass window of the building opposite.

They hung by a thread and by the Winter Soldier’s silver hand until he hauled the pair of them into the office building and away from scrutinizing eyes.

*

_Target acquired. Steve Rogers, aged 92, alias Captain America._

_Target safe._

_New objective: Get the fuck away from the government team swarmed all around like buzzing fucking bees._

A voice cut through, like glass on a metal arm. The Winter Soldier clenched his hand into a fist.

“Bucky?”

_Bucky Barnes. 1917 - 1944._

“Bucky, wait.”

The Winter Soldier paused. He looked back at the Captain and frowned beneath his mask. Except he hadn’t had a mask in over a year. And he hadn’t been the Winter Soldier for even longer.


End file.
